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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377293">Okay, Shut Up and Let Me Save You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites'>whenshewrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [84]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Derek Hale, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Steaks are Good for Bribery, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:13:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles just wanted a relaxing weekend. Then Derek showed up beaten and bloodied in his bedroom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [84]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>950</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Okay, Shut Up and Let Me Save You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Stiles was more than ready to start his weekend out with a bang. In other words, he planned on going home and burrowing under his covers for a twelve-hour nap. Or something like that.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Except, he pushed into his room only to freeze. The window was wide open and there was a set of bloody footprints going across his carpet. Sitting slumped against the edge of his bed was a very shirtless and very bloodied Derek; and there was a hole. In his stomach. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A hole in his <em>stomach.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles dropped his backpack to the floor and rushed forward. Derek’s eyes were half-lidded and he was breathing heavily, one arm wrapped around the wound. The man didn’t even react as Stiles dropped to his side other than cracking on eye open and offering a small huff. Stiles cursed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Derek, oh my god, Derek, what the hell happened? Who did this to you? Dude, are you dying?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hunters,” Derek rasped. “They’re taken care of.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“They’re taken care of? <em>They’re taken care of?</em> Derek, you have a hole in your stomach! We have to a hospital or Deaton or— and you’re not healing. Why aren’t you healing?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek shifted with a groan and Stiles caught the remnants of what had caused the hole in his stomach. Traces of something blue, his breaths catching in his throat. Derek continued to bleed out on his bedroom floor.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wolfsbane.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No hospital,” Derek said, words slurring. “And Deaton’s out of town.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fuck. <em>Fuck!</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Okay, alright,” Stiles said, shoving himself up. He stumbled over to his desk and yanked open the bottom drawer, shuffling through his stash of mountain ash, wolfsbane, bandages, and other miscellaneous things that his dad had no idea he kept hidden there. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grabbing a wolfsbane bullet and a few stacks of gauze, Stiles shoved it between his teeth and rushed back over. Derek’s face was scarily pale.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Don’t you dare die on me,” Stiles said. “You understand that, Sourwolf? You’re not allowed to die on me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek tried what Stiles thought might be a laugh, but it sounded more like a dying cough. “Well, since I don’t have your permission, I’ll make sure not to. Though I really wasn’t planning on it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So you get sarcastic when your dying,” Stiles said, yanking the top off the bullet. “Duly noted. You know, for next time. Which there better not be.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I didn’t know where else to go,” Derek said quietly. Stiles’s throat constricted.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, well, I really wasn’t planning on doing anything else with my afternoon. You totally owe me after this though, Sourwolf.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek studied his face, grey-green eyes hazy with pain. Stiles tried not to focus on that, shaky hands dumping the powder into his palm and then Stiles hesitated. He grabbed Derek’s hand with his free hand, squeezing it reassuringly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“This is going to hurt.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just do it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Grimacing, Stiles shoved the powder against the wound and held it there, even as Derek arched his back with a strangled howl and bile rose in Stiles’s throat. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to pull away, feeling the heat of the wound and the sizzle underneath his palm. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek writhed in his grip and Stiles squeezed his wrist tighter, knowing he was no match against werewolf strength if Derek decided to fight him. But the man only clamped his jaw shut and rode out the rest of the pain. Stiles drew back only when he felt the skin knitting back together, turning away with a dry heave. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek’s gasping breaths softened.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh my god,” Stiles said, fighting the urge to lose his stomach right there. “You’re not allowed to do that again. Ever.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sorry,” Derek rasped, and he actually sounded apologetic. “I wouldn’t have— shouldn’t have— come.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles turned back toward him, gaping slightly. Sweat shone on the man’s forehead and his skin was still lacking too much color. Shaking his head, Stiles pushed himself up. “Don’t be an idiot, Sourwolf. I meant you’re not allowed to get shot again. Finding a werewolf bleeding out on my floor always makes my day. Haven’t you figured that out already?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek huffed. Stiles disappeared into the bathroom and grabbed a few washcloths and, because he was petty, a Captain America bandaid. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He caught his own reflection in the mirror and was surprised to see he looked a lot less panicked than he felt. There was blood covering his hands and he was definitely a little paler than usual, but Stiles thought he’d be a lot more green or something. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It didn’t really bother him how used he was to situations like this. Instead, he almost felt… relieved Derek had come to him. It was better than the idiot bleeding out somewhere else.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek was sitting up when Stiles came back out of the bathroom. He froze to see the werewolf was actually trying to pull his shirt back on; trying and failing. Stiles cleared his throat and Derek looked up like a deer in headlights.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Dude, what the hell are you doing?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“L…Leaving.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Uh, why?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek looked nervous. “I shouldn’t have come.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh my god,” Stiles said, crossing the room. He took Derek by the shoulders and pushed him back down, before pulling the tattered t-shirt from his hands. “Sit down, you asshole, and let me clean you up. You’re not going anywhere.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek blinked at him. Stiles rolled his eyes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just because I get a little squeamish doesn’t mean I don’t want you coming here when you’re bleeding out,” Stiles said. “Dammit, Derek, I’m glad you came. I’m glad you… trust me enough to come.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek continued to stare. Stiles wet his lips.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Cause I’m always gonna be here when you need me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Really?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The man sounded so unsure, so cautious, that Stiles’s chest tightened a little. He shrugged and eyed Derek’s bare torso; the spot where he’d been shot was nothing but a circle of pink flesh now. But the blood staining his skin looked like it’d been a massacre. “Of course, you idiot. We’re pack.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s supposed to be my job,” Derek said. “To take care of the  pack.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, the next time I’m beaten and bloodied, I’ll make sure to show up on your doorstep instead of going to the hospital,” Stiles said. Derek’s eyes rounded and he looked terrified.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stiles—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Kidding, Sourwolf, I’m kidding! I’ll definitely go to the hospital.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or you could not get beaten and bloodied at all.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, come on,” Stiles said. “It’s me. I get beaten and bloodied tying my shoes. We’re just lucky nothing’s happened so far this week. Well, other than this.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s not true,” Derek said softly. Stiles arched a brow and the werewolf’s ears turned pink. “You’re not a liability.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course I’m not a liability,” Stiles said, snorting. “But I’m human, Sourwolf, and don’t get me wrong, I love being ‘team human’ and all that, but I wouldn’t heal from a hole in the stomach.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,” Derek murmured. “I know.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles sat down in front of him and reached out cautiously, meeting Derek’s eyes before he touched the wet cloth to blood-crusted skin. He could feel Derek watching him the entire time, but Stiles kept his eyes on his task. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The white washcloth was stained pink when he pulled it back. But all the blood was gone. Reaching over, Stiles picked up the bandaid and made sure to hold Derek’s gaze when he unwrapped it and pressed the red-white-and-blue shield over the healed skin. Derek raised a brow and Stiles smirked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There,” he said. “All better.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek chuckled. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You know,” Stiles said quietly, setting the washcloth aside. “You can always come to me. Even when you’re not actively dying.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I do come.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You come for research and to loom creepily,” Stiles said, avoiding his eyes. “I own a lot of movies, you know. And I have a stash of chips hidden downstairs that my dad doesn’t know about. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out with a friend every once in a while.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“A friend?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or, you know” Stiles said nervously. “Whatever this is. Friends, annoying counterparts, human and the wolf...”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. Stiles grimaced and looked up, but to his surprise, Derek didn’t look irritated. Or anything, really, except maybe a little amused. That made his stomach flip. “Yes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There are other ways to see movies though,” Derek said. Stiles blinked and the man’s face turned red. “Like… movie theaters.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Movie theaters,” Stiles said dumbly. This time, it was Derek avoiding his gaze and when it hit, Stiles choked on his breath, much to a very distressed looking werewolf. Derek started to push himself up with his hands raised, but Stiles shook his head, standing too. “Dude, yeah, theatres! Love those.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It doesn’t have to be—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But it could be?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek lowered his hands and a small smile tugged at his lips. Stiles thought it was the most adorable thing he’d ever see. “Yeah, it could be.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles just grinned. For a moment, he forgot about the blood on his carpet and bed, and the fact that there was a very shirtless werewolf standing in his room with a little Captain America bandaid on unblemished skin. That is, until he heard a car door slamming shut from outside his window. And then his heart stopped.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My dad.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Your dad?” Derek looked confused. “I mean, I would ask your dad first, but—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, Sourwolf, my <em>dad</em>. Oh my god, I’m so dead.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek tilted his head and then his face paled. For a moment, he looked like he was going to run for the window, but then he visibly restrained himself. “I’ll talk to him.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’ll talk to him?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Um, yes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or you could hide,” Stiles said. “In the closet. No, under the bed. Wait, on the roof!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You want me to hide.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, hide!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s coming up the stairs.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s coming up the stairs— <em>he’s coming up the stairs?”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek grimaced and Stiles turned around right as his dad passed his open door; and then paused, backtracking in his steps. The Sheriff stood there for a second, eyes going from Stiles, to Derek, to the bloody floor. Then he sighed. “Do I want to know?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Um,” Stiles said, voice squeaking. “No.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Should I ask anyway?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“P-probably.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Will there be steaks involved?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek looked confused. “Why would there be—” but Stiles quickly elbowed him, grinning as brightly as he could at his dad.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There will be steaks involved. And mashed potatoes. And, um, dessert?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hm,” the Sheriff said, thinking for a second. Then he nodded. “Derek comes too.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Derek comes too... Of course, Derek comes too!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His dad did another once-over around the room before sighing and turning away. Stiles relaxed until his voice echoed down the hallway. “Get him a shirt from my closet while you’re at it. For some reason, I don’t think any of yours would fit.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles winced. Derek looked over, eyes wide.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I come too?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, turning toward his mess of a room. “You can <em>talk to him.”</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek visibly paled. Still, Stiles thought that could’ve gone worse.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Dinner was worse.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for the prompt: 'person A stumbling to the other’s front door after getting hurt/beaten up etc' and I loved this one so much. I hope you all enjoyed! Of course, all the comments and support you guys leave absolutely makes my day. Stay safe!</p><p>Come hang with me on Tumblr!</p><p>  <a href="https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/">tumblr dumpser</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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